


PEOPLE HELP PEOPLE

by AgnesClementine



Series: FIGHTERS OF THE GOOD FIGHT [8]
Category: Supernatural, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Diego gets a dog, Diego is fed up, M/M, Sort Of, some hunters are assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-09-24 21:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20365636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: Diego is already in a sour mood (what with Dean not making any moves), so when a case gets them all in over their heads and some dicks in trucker caps are acting smart, he's ready to commit murder- be it the Asshole Hunters or their mysterious monster. He's not feeling picky.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *deep breath* I have FINALLY made my brain work with me and spit this out, so uh, yeah. Hi. 
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

They don’t kiss again. Things are not weird or tense or anything Diego was afraid of, and they continue their drive to South Dakota in a relaxed, peaceful fashion. But they don’t kiss again because…well, Diego actually has no idea why.

He wakes up when his head smacks against the window, and looks up just in time to see a sign spelling out “Singer’s salvage yard” in faded, rusty metallic letters.

Dean drives them past rows of wrecked, steel skeletons of cars and trucks, and Diego suddenly feels nervous. What if Bobby doesn’t like him?

He knows John is a finicky person, but he met him a long time ago, before Dean became this important to him. And to Diego’s understanding, he likes him- to a certain extent at least.

But he doesn’t know Bobby.

(And where exactly does Diego stand with Dean now?)

“God, I can’t wait to sleep in an actual bed,” Dean moans, turning down the radio.

Diego frowns because, “Every motel we stopped at had a bed, Dean.”

“Yeah, but not a real bed. You know, a bed that just one person slept in.”

In that case, Diego thinks none of his siblings had ‘an actual bed’. He’s sure that everyone shared with someone at least once.

“You’re awfully picky about sleeping arrangements for someone who lives out of a car,” he tells Dean.

Dean makes a dismissive noise and stops the car. They’re parked behind a truck, another one parked next to the house, slightly rusted and with a dog lying on the hood. It barks at them once, and then rests its head on its front paws, deciding that’s enough.

Diego looks curiously, feeling a childish urge to go pet it. It would probably be a stupid thing to do, considering the dog doesn’t know him, and he doesn’t know the dog, and he’d probably lose a few fingers- but that doesn’t mean he can’t entertain the idea in his head.

“Alright, let’s go,” Dean says, drumming his hands on the steering wheel in excitement, and gets out. Diego follows after him.

The house itself has seen better times, definitely. What with its peeling paint and shabby looking porch. But the longer Diego looks, the more charming, in a weird way, it gets. It looks lived in, he thinks would be a good word choice while taking his bag from Dean.

He hears the door open and sees John walking down the porch, looking them over.

“About the time. We thought you boys got lost,” he says. Diego would’ve mistaken it for a jab if not for an amused glint in his eyes. It reminds him strangely of Luther. His brother might be serious most of the time, but there were moments when his subtle sense of humor surprised them all. Much later because they would hardly notice he’s joking at the time, but Diego can admire him for being low-key about one thing at least.

Dean huffs, “We’re not that late,” he whines.

John claps him on the shoulder on the way up the stairs and gives Diego a nod of greeting. He returns it, at once keen on an idea of sleep in a horizontal position as well.

At the doorway, an older man is currently giving Dean a hug. Brief as it is, but it’s still more than Diego ever got from Reginald. He tries to imagine it; a hug with his father, and feels uneasy. Especially as his mind immediately supplies him with a needle to push in Diego’s neck and electrodes to stick to his head.

“Don’t just stand there,” he jerks out of his thoughts as the voice snaps, “get your ass inside and stop blocking the door.”

He hears Dean snicker from the hallway and considers throwing him a dirty look, but in the end, he decides on focusing on shuffling inside the house and away from the door as fast as he can- without making it look like he’s hurrying, of course.

Once inside, the man sticks his hand out to him and says curtly, “Bobby Singer.”

“Diego,” he takes his hand, and adds-because it’s only fair-, “Hargreeves,” and waits for a reaction.

Bobby just nods, giving his hand a firm shake, before disappearing further into the house with an off-handed, “Make yourself at home.”

If Diego was feeling bitter, he’d say that he doesn’t really know how to do that. But mostly he’s just confused by this whole interaction and tired from the trip, so he mutely follows Dean- who is still snickering to himself quietly- up the stairs. He trips him on their way up, and that does make him feel a little bit better.

  * ●●●●

He wakes up way too early, with dawn lighting up the room with a soft orange glow, and Dean still snoring in the bed next to his. Diego wonders how that’s even possible since his face is shoved into the pillow (then wonders why is he so concerned with other people’s sleeping habits and positions), and crawls out of his bed soundlessly, sneaking out of the room on the tips of his toes.

He washes his face and brushes his teeth in the bathroom, then pads down the stairs. There’s a clattering noise coming from one of the rooms, and footsteps, so he follows it.

In the kitchen, Bobby is banging around with various bowls and pans, pot on the stove wafting out a strong smell of coffee.

“Morning,” he says.

Bobby grunts before returning the greeting, adds, “Take some coffee.”

Diego pours himself a cup, even though he’s not much of a coffee drinker. And in the end, he adds enough milk that the liquid turns beige, so he doesn’t know if it qualifies as coffee anymore.

He drinks in silence while Bobby presumably makes breakfast. He compares it to Mom’s routine, then feels ridiculous for it, and after that acutely aware of how much he misses her.

  * ●●●●

When the two of them have eaten their breakfasts, Bobby shoves a plate with leftovers in his hands and tells him to give them to Rumsfeld. So here Diego is now, wondering how to go about feeding the dog from the hood without losing his fingers.

Rumsfeld barks at him, tail wagging with enough force his whole rear is moving. He’s a pretty big dog, he notices.

“Okay,” he says, not sure if he’s addressing himself or the dog, but then continues, “I have food for you.”

And when Rumsfeld strains against his chain, he adds with a frown, “Please don’t bite my fingers off.”

He picks up one piece of bacon and shuffles closer, keeps rambling.

“I kinda need my hands to work. Can’t throw shit if I can’t pick it up.” He’s talking to a dog, which is ridiculous. But so is everything else in his life.

He throws the bacon and watches as it disappears in Rumsfeld’s mouth, reasonably intimidated by a snap of sharp teeth.

But at the same time, he doesn’t actually have anything else to do. At least for now.

He keeps feeding Rumsfeld for a while, and when the plate is empty, he just sits on an empty gas container with the dog ignoring him in favor of sprawling over the ground at his feet and taking a nap.

He just sits there until he hears the door open and Dean’s feet walk toward him.

Diego glances at him for a moment when he stops next to him before going back to watching Rumsfeld sleeping.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks.

Diego shrugs. “Nothing? What time is it?”

“Eight,” Dean says through a yawn, “Dad woke me up for breakfast. You already ate with Bobby?”

“Mhm.”

He still wants to pet Rumsfeld, but he’s not sure how to do that. He doesn’t think Rumsfeld would really bite him, but what if he startles him? Should he just…touch him?

Dean is silent for a beat. Then he crouches down, calling out, “Rumsfeld!”

The dog perks up, climbing to his feet and going to nuzzle at Dean’s outstretched hand, tail wagging happily.

“Hey, boy,” Dean coos at the dog, scrubbing his fingers through his fur. He looks up at Diego and offers him a hand.

He takes it, not sure why, but then Dean’s tugging him down, closer. He doesn’t have a choice except to crouch as well.

Slowly, Dean shoves both of their hands in Rumsfeld’s fur and Diego carefully keeps his face from making any embarrassing expressions.

The fur is thick and not as soft as he expected it to be, but there’s a certain joy in petting a dog, he thinks. He knows a lot of people loves that; he doubts that dogs would be very popular pets if they didn’t.

(_People tend to keep things that benefit them in some way- he should know, his father did that._)

He thinks about Five, who loved dogs, and Klaus, who brought one home when they were 14, and Luther and Ben, who seemed most sad when Reginald refused to let them keep it. Allison cried but it was a short episode and Vanya didn’t have much of a reaction, despite being the one who cared for the dog while they trained. Diego liked it well enough, but he knew there was no chance of Dad letting them keep it.

Dean’s hand is warm, still covering his own, and Diego thinks, _this is when they kiss_.

He doesn’t have the guts, though, because Dean hasn’t brought it up yet, and he didn’t ask Diego to share a bed last night and he didn’t- he didn’t do anything.

He loops both arms around Rumsfeld’s neck, causing the dog to lean into him and bring him down on his ass. He settles over Diego’s lap then, enjoying the scritches and petting.

Diego doesn’t dare to look up at Dean.


	2. 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is...actually I have no idea lol. Something resembling a Plot should start in the next chapter XD
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Diego thinks he adjusts to living with multiple people fairly well- considering everything. In a weird way, sometimes it feels like he’s back home, just instead of the pack of his siblings, and Mom, and Pogo, here he has Dean, Bobby, and John.

It gets stuffy from time to time, but no matter the feeling, nothing will ever topple the chaos that is Hargreeves household on certain occasions. So Diego endures with a great deal of patience he doesn’t possess and reminds himself he can’t smack Dean for stealing the remote like he would do with Luther when he annoys him- because Dean would most definitely feel it.

  * ●●●●

The call is unexpected; not only to Diego who has no slightest idea who Pastor Jim is, but to the others as well.

“So? What’s going on?” Dean asks as soon as Bobby hangs up.

Bobby takes his cap off and scratches his head, curious frown on his face.

“Says he needs help,” he says.

“What for?” John asks.

“Said there’s something going on down there, but he and the guys have no clue,” Bobby looks at all of them, then adds, “said we should all go.”

Diego can feel the collective surprise in the room. “What, it’s ‘all hands on deck’ kind of situation?” He asks.

Bobby regards him for a second, responds, “Something like it, I guess.”

  * ●●●●

Dean catches him up on the story behind Pastor Jim while they’re driving away from Sioux Falls. Or not the story behind him, but how he used to look after them while John worked on cases. How they lived out their best days with him- maybe not using those exact words but Diego got the gist of it. At least to him watching morning cartoons and getting sick on sugar sounds like living out your best days.

There’s four of them- and they took three cars.

“Why exactly can’t John and Bobby share a car?”

Dean glances at him as if he has lost his mind, “I’m sorry, but, uh, you have been living with us, right?”

Diego scrunches up his nose because, “Okay, yeah.”

Even though John and Bobby seem to be on more or less stable terms, Diego has a feeling that if they were to be stuck in a car together for…however long the drive will last, well, the car would probably end up in a ditch.

So there they are, a line of three, just following after each other down the road.

Diego cranks up the radio, folding into his seat- careful not to put his feet on the dash or the seat itself because Dean is fucking touchy about that- and closes his eyes.

  * ●●●●

_Two wakes up with a start, the door to his room flying open. Four clings to the doorway long enough to tell him, “Dad put up a portrait!” and then disappears. _

_A portrait? What-_

_He gets up and runs down the stairs. He finds his siblings cluttered around the fireplace in the living room, a big painting that wasn’t there before hung above it._

_He shoulders himself between Three and Six, looking up with disbelief and dread pooling sickly in his stomach. _

_Five looks onward with hollow eyes, looking like himself, but just slightly off. They didn’t talk about it; when he ran off and didn’t come back the next day. But Two thought…he thought they wouldn’t give up so easily. _

_Anger flares up in him because it’s only been a few days. A few days and Dad is already writing him down in history. Like he’s dead._

_And this painting? This is not for them to remember him. Dad was never sentimental like that._

_A sniffle shatters the silence, then Seven is pushing past the rest of them, walking out of the room with shoulders drawn up tight. _

_Two doesn’t look at anyone, itching for a knife, and walks numbly toward the kitchen when Mom comes to call them all in for breakfast. He doesn’t look at the painting again either._

  * ●●●●

They arrive at the motel just before midnight. Diego unfolds out of the car with a grateful moan, his joints popping. Cold, night air shakes any remains of sleep from him- but the same couldn’t be said for Dean.

He seems to be barely standing, yawning wide enough that his jaw cracks.

“Jesus,” he says, blinking hard and shaking his head.

Bobby and John don’t seem to be in a much better state. But they don’t make a beeline for their rooms, none of them. Instead, they wait until three other rooms open, people spilling out of them not looking like they had any sleep either.

There are three men joining them on the parking lot; an older man with graying hair and mustache, slightly scruffy cheeks, one younger guy in a vest, still a good few years older than Diego, and a guy who’s somewhere between the two, burly, but not taller than Diego.

“John, Bobby. Dean,” the older man says, shaking their hands.

“Jim,” Dean says when it’s his turn.

_So that’s the pastor_, Diego thinks, imagining him in a pastor’s uniform. Or however those things are called.

“Diego,” he sticks out his own hand, gets a firm handshake and a polite smile in response.

“I’m Jim, that’s Mike and Charlie,” Jim says, motioning at his company.

They don’t shake hands again, but there are nods of greeting exchanged on both sides. Charlie, the younger one, is holding himself tense, expression pinched in what Diego thinks is a part concern and part anger.

“Didn’t think I’d see a day when you step out of that town of yours,” Bobby remarks, directing it at Jim.

Jim chuckles, but it’s not a happy sound, “Wish it was for a better occasion, Bobby.”

Bobby huffs in agreement.

Diego trains his eyes on Mike and Charlie, checking them over and filing all the details in his head. Mike looks like an average, everyday thug, to put it simply. He’s dressed like a truck driver; something Diego is beginning to think is just a national fucking hunter’s uniform. He’s not dumb- dumb ones don’t live long in this business- but Diego knows that if a push came to a shove, he could take him. Mike’s got nothing on Luther, after all.

Charlie is checking him over, in turn, eyes narrowed.

“Said your name’s Diego?” He calls over.

Diego nods. Then it dawns on him- he’s the new guy. They maybe didn’t meet the Winchesters and Bobby before, but they heard of them, no doubt. Diego, though- Diego is a blank page. They’ve got nothing to pin to him.

“It is,” he calls back, “what about it?”

Charlie shakes his head, shrugging like it’s no matter.

“Just haven’t heard anything about John or Bobby taking someone in.”

Diego wants to tell him that he doesn’t need anyone to “take him in”, but decides this is not a time for a confrontation.

“Yeah, I guess you could say I’m new to this,” he responds flatly.

Charlie’s jaw ticks.

“Welp, this is all very nice, but I’m dead on my feet,” Dean pipes up suddenly next to him, warm and inconspicuously fisting the back of Diego’s jacket.

Diego feels tension snap like a balloon, it remains nothing but torn rubber at their feet.

“We’re all tired,” John adds, “let’s get the hell to sleep. We can start working bright and early, at 8 am sharp. Everyone good with that?”

Nods and murmurs of agreement all around.

Diego is impressed by how, only a few moments after arriving, John Winchester can just take over all the authority of the group. Reputation goes a long way, he supposes.

Diego spares Charlie another dead-on stare, giving as good as he gets, and then he follows Dean into their room. They’ve barely got here, but Diego knows someone’s nose is gonna get broken.


	3. 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot...moves forward at snail's pace.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Dean is dead asleep before his head even hits the pillow, sprawled over the bed like somebody shot him and just let him flop down.

Diego pulls off his boots and wrestles him underneath the covers- and then he just waits. Which is stupid but he’s not tired at all, had his fill of sleep with Dean singing in the background to his five freaking albums and Impala rumbling all around him.

Then he starts pacing, decides that’s even dumber, and gets out of the room.

He’s not going for a ride (Dean would shoot off the bed before he even had a chance to turn on the engine, he suspects), but he intends to pace the parking lot for a while, to lull himself into a mindless rhythm that will eventually make him sleepy enough to fall asleep as well.

Instead, his eyes catch the light streaming from one of the rooms. Pastor Jim’s room.

He’s knocking at the door with only mild hesitation. He thinks to himself, maybe the man sleeps with lights on, you never know, and he’s about to shoot Diego for disturbing him.

But the door clicks open quietly. Jim looks at him, not surprised by his presence. “Can’t sleep?” He asks simply.

“Something like that,” Diego agrees, “I’m actually wondering if you have the case files?”

Jim chuckles, “Already on the job, huh?”

Diego shrugs, “Might as well. It’s better than wasting my time the whole night.”

Jim agrees, beckons him inside.

He hands him a, well, fairly thin folder with, “There’s not much to go on. Victims are all addicts, disappear for a few days, show up dead.”

“So it’s a pattern, then?”

Jim sighs, “Looks like it.”

Diego leafs through a few pages, eyebrows knotting with each picture, “What makes you guys think it’s not just a serial killer?”

“Well, there are some ritualistic markings on the bodies. We have no idea what they actually are, but that just proves they’re not anything normal.”

Diego hums in agreement. Yeah, upon closer inspection, he can see something blurry on victims’ hands. Right wrist, all of them.

“Right, uh, thanks for these. I’ll let you get back to your own thing,” he says, closing the folder.

Jim nods, says, “Goodnight. Who knows, maybe you’ll find something we missed.”

“Let’s hope so. Goodnight.”

The air outside sends chills down his spine, even though he hasn’t been in Jim’s room that long. It’s middle of the night and Diego is grateful that he has something to occupy himself with, instead of staring at Dean the whole night like a creep.

Slipping back into their room, he sneaks off into the bathroom. If he turns on the light to read in the room, Dean will definitely wake up, so he takes a seat on the closed toilet, feet perched on a dingy bathtub, and opens the file once again.

In the back of the folder, he finds close-ups of those markings. They are carved into the skin with a knife and whoever done them was not very skilled. The circle looks more like a hexagon, little marks in its peaks sometimes looking like snowflakes, sometimes as simple crosses. And some corpses have one mark in the hexagon/circle monstrosity, some have 2, some 3. Diego has a feeling it’s all very obvious, but he can’t figure it out.

He huffs a breath out through his nose, tucking the photos away, and going to tackle actual police reports.

  * ●●●●

Dean finds him passed out on the toilet, his neck yelling at him even though he’s sure it couldn’t have been more than 30 minutes since he closed his eyes.

“Dude,” Dean says when he gets over the sight before him, squeezing himself into the tiny bathroom to brush his teeth, “what the hell?”

“I was reading the case report,” Diego responds, wincing as he digs his fingers in his neck muscles. Yep, he’s gonna be fucking feeling that the whole day.

Dean makes an inquisitive noise around a mouthful of toothpaste and toothbrush.

“Jim gave it to me. Vics are all junkies, weird markings on their right wrists, nobody actually knows how long the period between kidnappings/murders and body resurfacing is because, well, nobody knows when they went missing,” Diego sums up for him. The file really wasn’t too helpful.

Dean grunts. He spits into the sink, turns to tell Diego, “Well, this is gonna be one dandy case, huh?”

Diego snorts and clambers to his feet, folder clutched in his hand as he stretches.

Dean clears his throat, adds, “Also, the meeting is in 20.”

“20? Shit,” he squeezes past Dean to grab a fresh change of clothes and his own toothbrush.

“So uh, about Charlie,” Dean starts from the bathroom. His voice has a strange, awkward tilt to it, but Diego doesn’t pay it any attention.

“What about him?” He calls back, throwing his old shirt on the bed and wrestling himself into a new one. He figures his jeans are presentable enough for a day or two more. And getting into a new pair would mean he has to get out of his boots and he really doesn’t have the energy to hassle with that this early.

“Dunno, he just… rubs me the wrong way, you know?” His head pokes into the room and he adds pointedly, “You don’t seem to be his biggest fan either.”

Diego snorts again because that’s an understatement, “Yeah, I guess he rubs me the wrong way too.”

They look at each other like it’s some hilarious inside joke just for the two of them, then Dean awkwardly clears his throat and disappears in the bathroom again.

Diego grinds his teeth.

  * ●●●●

Diego stays mostly silent for the duration of the meeting. Except for an occasional shade Charlie throws at him, and to which he has to respond. He’s fucking hung up on the assumption that Diego has no fucking clue about anything hunting related. Which somehow puts six “capable” hunters at risk here.

Diego really doesn’t know what the fuck is the guy’s problem. But if he keeps it up, Diego’s gonna punch his teeth in.

  * ●●●●

“Okay, let’s split up,” John tells them after they went through the file once again, “Bobby and I’ll go to the morgue, see if we can find something that the cops missed. Jim, Mike, Charlie, you comb through the outskirts of the town, maybe there’s an altar or some sacred place for the rituals. Dean, Diego, head to the sheriff’s office, listen for any rumors in the town. Got it?”

“Yeah-“

“Brave move, Winchester,” Charlie cuts off Dean’s response. He’s trying to be nonchalant about it, inspecting his gun like he’s never seen the damn thing, but he’s throwing dirty glances at Diego every few moments.

Before John or anyone else could respond, Diego scoffs loudly.

He can see Dean silently screaming at him from the corner of his eye, but no. He’s had enough.

Reginald always told them to sort out their shit before missions- in much more refined way, of course- and although his dad’s a bastard and Diego would rather cut his ears off than let any of his manipulative shit get to him, that’s one thing he agrees with. And sure, this isn’t a mission exactly, but Diego is not going to work with someone for whom he has no idea whether he’ll guard his back or shoot him in it.

“Okay, since my presence has your panties in a twist so much, why don’t you tell me what is your fucking problem with me?”

Charlie looks at him then, like the rest of the room, obviously thrown by being called out like this.

After a second, he collects himself and huffs, “I don’t fucking know you, that’s my problem with you. I don’t care who you rolled in with, kid, but I have never fucking heard of you. And I’ll be fucking damned if I let your wannabe hunter ass fuck up this case.”

“Funny, the case seems pretty fucked to me already,” Diego responds, popping his knuckles under the table. He wonders how ironic it is that his name being low key is causing him trouble, as opposed to expectations.

Charlie jumps to his feet then- Mike tries to rein him in, but Diego can tell he has his back.

“The fuck you know,” he spits at Diego.

He towers, sneering down at Diego and well. Diego doesn’t like when people tower over him. He gets up as well, ignoring Dean’s hiss of his name.

“I know you’re stuck and you called for backup. So here we fucking are, a motherfucking cavalry.”

His pulse is starting to pound in his ears, dull but overwhelming, and his hands feel hot, fingertips burning.

“Like fuck! They sure are, but you? A fucking kid. Get the fuck out of here with your holier than thou attitude-“

And oh, if there’s something that Diego can’t stand, then it’s this type of bullshit. _A fucking kid. A fucking. Kid._ Diego hasn’t been a kid since he was fucking five. The tears and blood he and his siblings have shed. And this dickhead has a nerve to act like he has Diego all figured out. Motherfucker.

Diego wonders what the bastard was doing when Five disappeared, or when Ben died, or when they went to their first mission and everyone had nightmares for a week- and then he doesn’t think anymore.

He punches Charlie right in his fucking face.


	4. 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot happens. A little bit.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

The silence is not exactly stifling, but Diego can feel something filling up space, pushing against him and his throbbing knuckles. The engine rumbles, and rumbles, and rumbles.

“Well, uh,” Dean says, “that was, um, something.”

He doesn’t sound angry- something Diego was expecting when he pulled him out of the room by the back of his jacket- or surprised- what Diego expected when Charlie stumbled back and tripped over an edge of the carpet right on his ass. In fact, Dean doesn’t sound much of anything.

Diego curls his fingers around the bruised fist, fingertips digging into reddened skin.

“Yeah,” he agrees simply.

It would’ve been more than just “something” if Dean hasn’t intervened. Diego knows he was ready to land a few more punches to let the point sink into that dense fucker’s head- but Dean had a handful of his jacket in a grip before he managed to move. And then Diego just let him drag him out.

Dean hums, drums his fingers on the steering wheel, and doesn’t say anything for a moment. When he does, though, it’s, “Bobby and Dad will talk to Charlie. He’s gonna be pissed, but I’m sure he won’t go after you. Uh, I’m pretty sure he won’t.”

Diego blinks at the road, his brain soaking up the words slowly, then turns his head to look at Dean.

“_You think I’m scared of Charlie?_”

“Considering you almost punched his teeth in, no?” Dean responds.

“Then-“

“Look, I’m all in for punching a few entitled pricks, but hunters who have been in this line of work for as long as Charlie is, have connections in the community. And I think it’s in neither of our interests to have some random hunters on our asses.”

“My ass,” Diego corrects him, “I punched him.”

Dean’s got nothing to do with the possible mess Diego has created; Charlie should be thanking him for stopping Diego from breaking a few bones if anything.

“Fuck that,” Dean fires back, surprisingly fierce. He glances at Diego like he thinks he lost a few marbles.

“We’re a team, so if it comes to that, we’ll deal with it together. You’re family,” he says with a nod, looking straight ahead.

Diego doesn’t say anything or hears Dean says anything else, because his pulse beats like a drum in his ears for the rest of the drive.

  * ●●●●

When they return to the motel, others have already left to start working on their parts of the job. Diego is not sure whether to be glad because now that he’s cooled off, he’s just too fucking tired to fight with that knucklehead, or the be offended because he doesn’t need Bobby or John to protect him. He could- and would- handle Charlie on his own.

But as it is, they change into suits quietly and quickly, then go over the case once more on the drive to the sheriff’s office.

When they arrive, they are faced with a startling contrast of staff and officers who seem to be well into their senior years and those who look like they’ve just stepped out of school.

“This looks like a retirement home,” Dean comments under his breath, watching a younger officer miserably help his older colleague to navigate a computer.

Diego hums in agreement as they follow the receptionist to the sheriff’s office.

The sheriff belongs to the older group, squints at them curiously over grey, bushy eyebrows as they enter his office.

“Gentlemen,” he greets them.

“Sheriff. We’re agents Jones and Plant with FBI,” Dean says smoothly while they shake hands.

Sheriff’s eyes linger on his face just for a second before he says lightly, “You fellas are getting younger with each year, eh?”

“Something like that,” Diego responds.

“We’re here for the-“

“Bodies? Yes, I assumed you’d be. Your office is awfully interested in this case. You’re the third ones who came in for them,” Sheriff tells them.

While Dean bluffs their reason for being here, Diego wonders just how hopeless this case might be. He assumes that Pastor Jim was one “fed” who came in, which makes Mike and Charlie the second ones. And nobody got anything valuable, information-wise, from those visits.

“I don’t know what to tell you guys. We can’t really keep track of all ju- addicts, so there’s not much of anything to work with.” The sheriff says, scratching the back of his neck.

“You have a lot of addicts here?”

Sheriff huffs, “Too many. It’s sad really, the whole town going to shit,” he responds with a shake of his head, “Damn drugs. We had a big raid almost three months ago.”

“Don’t say,” Dean says curiously.

Sheriff hums, “Yeah. ‘S why the station is so damn colorful. We got new officers, county’s orders, because god knows the rest of is getting too damn old for this shit.”

“Huh, so they helped with the raid?” Diego asks.

“Helped? Boys pulled it off all on their own. Damn heroes if you ask me.”

“Sounds like you got lucky with the new force, Sheriff,” Dean comments.

Sheriff grunts in eager agreement.

“If you think you need to go through the case again, officer Tenesay is the man you need to talk to.”

They nod and say their goodbyes, then go to hunt down the officer in question. They find him at his desk, typing away on his computer with bandaged fingers.

He looks up at them in surprise.

“Hello, can I help you?” He asks them politely.

“Hi, officer Tenesay? We’re with FBI,” Dean introduces them again.

Tenesay’s eyes light up with realization, “Oh, you want to talk about the case.”

“Yeah. We’ve been told you’re the one to talk to,” Diego says.

Tenesay nods, then rifles through his desk before pulling out a case file.

“There’s, uh, not much to talk about.”

_And oh, how is Diego starting to hate that sentence._

“There’s no connection between the victims- except for the fact that they were all addicts- and we don’t have the exact time period between them getting kidnapped and their bodies being found.”

“And the markings?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Anything about the symbols on their wrists?”

Tenesay blinks at them, “No? Why? Do you have something about them?”

Dean shakes his head, “Nah, that’s why we were asking.”

Tenesay nods, then shrugs apologetically, “That’s really everything we have. As I said, it’s not much.”

They weren’t hoping for anything else, but it’s still a bummer.

  * ●●●●

On the ride back, John calls. Dean answers, jamming it between his ear and shoulder, swears, then puts it on speaker and sets it on the dashboard.

“Jim called us,” John says, “it’s about Charlie.”

“What about him?” Diego asks because Dean is quiet, eyes fixed on the road.

“The reason why he’s so uptight about this case is because his brother went missing too.”

And-

_Fucking hell. That’s just perfect_.

“He worked on the case with Mike and Charlie, went for a beer run, and didn’t come back.”

“Why the hell weren’t we told that before I put Charlie on his ass?”

John snorts, says, “Hunters have their pride, kid.”

“Fuck,” Diego responds.

  * ●●●●

“You gonna punch him again or can I eat my pie in peace?” Dean asks him as soon as they get into their room.

Diego frowns at his cufflinks, toeing off his shoes.

“We’ll see,” he mutters, shucking off his jacket.

Dean groans. He flops down on his bed, taking off his own jacket.

“I’m begging you. I’ve been dreaming about this pie since 2 pm.”

“Only 2? And here I thought you wake up with nothing but pie on your mind.”

“Shut up,” Dean tells him. “Anyway, I get it, okay? Having a kidnapped brother is the kind of thing you don’t just leave out when it comes to this shit. But, uh, maybe don’t punch out his lights for it?”

Diego wrestles himself out of his dress shirt and sighs because, “I’m not gonna punch out his lights- unless he gives me a reason to. But this complicates things. Because the victims are not all junkies. And there’s not really a reason to break out of the pattern randomly like that; it just attracts attention. So.”

“So Charlie’s brother must have found out something he shouldn’t have found out,” Dean finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

Dean’s looking at him funny; like he’s trying to figure him out, or is looking at him from a new angle. It makes him feel…something. Diego doesn’t have a lot of shame- he’s pretty sure Klaus is partially guilty for that- and it’s not that, but he doesn’t know if he wants to shy away from that look, or just stay right there and soak up the feel of it.

(Or maybe come closer. Or let Dean come closer.)

“Diego, you’re a fucking genius.”

  * ●●●●

“Did your brother say anything to you?”

Charlie startles and glares at Pastor Jim, but Diego cuts off any accusations with, “Spare us and just answer the question. Your big bad took him because of something he did or found out, and if you have any idea what that might be, then maybe it can lead us to the solution of this fucking case.”

Charlie scowls at him through his bruised face, but relents and says, “He didn’t say anything. He went to get some beer because…because we were getting nowhere with this case, then he called to tell me he ran into one of the cops and that another body has been found. And after that- nothing.”

Everyone’s silent for a moment.

So where the fuck are they now? This is all new and good but Diego doesn’t know where to put it and how it fits with everything else. Again, it feels like the answer is _right there_, but Diego can’t fucking see it.

“Did you find anything at the morgue?” Dean asks his dad.

John shakes his head.

“The coroner was twitchy- gotta be all the _feds _sniffing around- but nothing on the bodies. Hack job with the symbols, whoever did it hasn’t done this before but that doesn’t help us.”

Diego slumps in his chair. It really doesn’t help them.

“How long has your brother been missing?” He asks, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“4 days. Almost 5.”

“And did the coroner say how long were the victims dead before the bodies were found?”

“About a day. Why?” Bobby asks.

Diego sits up straight.

Dean looks at him knowingly. It’s just an idea but-

“If Charlie’s brother-“

“Edward.”

“If Edward has been missing for 5 days now and his- he’s still alive, and the victims are all dead for a day before getting found-“

“-then we can assume that the time between kidnappings and murders is longer than 5 days,” Mike suddenly pipes up, surprising them all.

“Yep,” Diego agrees, recovering quickly.

Charlie is observing him and Diego can’t help but say cheekily, “I’m more than a pretty face.”

He halfway expects him to scowl at him again, but Charlie just nods at him, acknowledging, and okay, it feels pretty damn good to prove him wrong.


	5. 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this is a longer one :D (Also, the updates- pls let's pretend I have a posting schedule- will most likely be either Thursday, Friday, or during the weekend for now.) 
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Diego is tossing the facts around in his head while Dean clogs his arteries with a burger and some fries, rotating his milk glass between his hands. There is suddenly so much information and he still has no idea what’s going on.

“Dude, I can see the wheels turning in your head,” Dean tells him.

Diego hums. He steals a fry off Dean’s plate, shoves it in his mouth as photos of those mysterious markings float behind his eyes. The lines were neat, so it was a very thin and a very sharp knife- though that couldn’t make up for inexperience of whoever was handling it. And then the markings themselves; they still haven’t found out anything about them. Some similar symbols, sure, but nothing that matches. And it feels- well, to Diego, it feels like that’s just the thing they need to solve this case. If they, if he can figure out what those marks are, everything’s gonna piece together.

Dean sighs heavily.

“Seriously. Stop thinking for a moment and just… I don’t know. Just let it be.”

Diego responds, “I can’t just let it be, Dean.”

“I- yeah, I know. I meant, we’ve got a shitload more than we had yesterday. And you got to show off for a bit there too,” he cracks a brief grin at Diego and Diego flushes at the praise.

(Two years out of that house and about six more of not giving a fuck, and the tiniest compliment- or anything resembling a compliment, really- still has him blushing like a little kid with their school crush.)

Maybe it’s just Dean, though. It’s not like he can tell anymore.

He shakes it away, focusing on the matter at hand and asks, “Do you think Charlie told us everything?”

Dean shrugs but it’s anything but casual. “I don’t know,” he admits, “I mean, I- it’s not like he has any other options. It’s either us helping him with the case, or definitely never seeing his brother again.”

He wants to say more, Diego can tell, but he stops himself from talking by taking a huge bite out of his burger. Diego lets him be until he’s chewed and swallowed it with a swing of beer before prompting him for more.

“And?”

Dean shifts somewhat awkwardly and leans into the table on his forearms so he can almost whisper to Diego, “This is, uh, hitting home a little bit for you? Maybe? What with missing brothers and addicts?”

Diego blinks, then says, “You mean Five and Klaus?”

Dean nods.

Diego…truth be told, didn’t think of that. But it’s not like Dean is completely wrong. Sometimes when he can’t sleep, his mind strays to thinking about what is Five doing at that moment. Is he alive? Is he scared? Does he miss them? Is he happy? And he thinks he knows exactly how Dean and John are feeling about Sam. Except Sam is in Palo Alto, getting a head start to the rest of his life, just a phone call away. And Five is…Diego doesn’t know.

He pops his knuckles against the tabletop, grinding his fist against the plastic, oily surface.

And Klaus is- Klaus always had, ironically, too much life to stay contained. Diego thinks that’s the only thing that prevented him from crumbling completely under Dad’s regime like the rest of them. Diego pretended he didn’t care while Klaus really couldn’t have given less of a shit for anything Dad asked or wanted from them. He could never take from Klaus more than Klaus had to give.

“I guess,” he finds himself saying, “it is kind of a similar.”

Dean hums in response.

“Kind of a similar for you too,” Diego adds.

Dean frowns, “How so?”

“Sam.”

Dean’s eyes harden, “Sam didn’t disappear, he left.”

“But both you and your dad are still complete worrywarts about him, even though you both know exactly where he is.”

“I’m not following.”

“I’m not talking about the case, dumbass. Or maybe I am. Who the fuck knows anymore. Point is, at least three people on this case have some kind of missing person experience and we still have no idea how to go about solving this.”

Dean exhales what might be a chuckle or a huff, but the noise means agreement anyway.

“This is really bugging you, huh?”

Diego doesn’t respond but he doesn’t have to. It is bugging him. Not everyone who gets lost has to stay lost.

  * ●●●●

They are wasting time in Pastor Jim’s room but something about everyone being in the same space makes it seem like they’re being productive and not actually just wasting time. Which is why nobody points it out.

Diego is actually minutes away from dozing off, his mind so frustrated that it’s reaching for shutdown button when a phone goes off.

Jim fumbles for it with an apology and Diego doesn’t pay attention to the conversation until he hangs up and announces, “One of my parishioners died today.”

It hits Diego, just then, that Jim really is a pastor. It’s a weird thought.

“Shit,” Bobby says immediately.

“You’re going back?” Charlie asks at the same time.

To Diego’s surprise, Jim shakes his head.

“I was here at the beginning of this case, and I’m gonna see it through.”

Charlie huffs in gratitude, but says, “You don’t have to-“

“A hunter always finishes his case,” Jim interrupts him, saying it like it’s some sort of a rule. Maybe it is.

Charlie nods.

Diego gnaws at the inside of his cheek, debating whether he should or shouldn’t ask what’s on his mind.

“How do you come into all of this?” Is what leaves his mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a messenger of God- or something like that- right? So how does hunting play into that? There have to be some moral dilemmas.”

Jim takes a seat opposite to him, looking pleased by his question- and if not equally troubled.

Diego supposes he’s glad to be doing something instead of just sitting on his ass and twiddling his thumbs.

“Sure, there are. But being a hunter and a pastor are two different things. As a pastor, I give people hope, and faith, and a sense of security. Community too. And as a hunter, I make sure that they don’t just feel those things, but that they _are_ them. Hopeful, safe. If I have to pull a few triggers to make that possible, that’s my burden to bear.”

It sounds like he has it all figured out. Diego can’t tell if he’s sure of that, or if it’s just a well crafted and repeated excuse.

“And what if you make a mistake?”

Jim mulls it over.

“Humans are faulty creatures, but we have tests to make sure we’re not killing some normal, innocent bastard.”

Diego shakes his head, “You don’t get me. What if the monster you want to kill is innocent?”

There’s no silence expecting Jim’s answer this time. A couple of chuckles breaks the careful attentive atmosphere to laugh at the apparent absurdity of his question. Diego doesn’t need to look to know that both Bobby and John are chuckling. Dean is uncomfortably still next to him.

“Kid,” Charlie tells him, not unkindly, “no supernatural creature, no monster is innocent.”

  * ●●●●

When they get to their own room, the words still echo in Diego’s head. _No monster is innocent_.

Nobody disagreed.

He could go on tangents upon tangents of thoughts about that. What makes a monster a monster? Is it monster’s fault it’s a monster? Should it be punished even if it isn’t? Why?

But if he goes down that path, he’s afraid nausea he feels in the pit of his stomach, the feeling of heavy numbness will spread all over his body. And that’s not something he wants.

Instead, he turns to Dean and asks him, “You agree with them?”

Dean looks like a deer caught in headlights, shifts his eyes all over the room before settling them on Diego.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you. Monsters are evil, okay? That’s what I’ve been taught my whole life. That’s what I know. When you find a monster, you kill it before it kills you or someone else. When you find a dog that tries to bite you, you don’t just leave it wandering around.”

Dean doesn’t sound as sure as Pastor Jim does. Still, Diego can’t tell whether he would or wouldn’t put a bullet in his head if it came to that.

“Yeah, well, dogs that try to bite you are usually not accustomed to people trying to pet them when they reach for them,” he says and marches into the bathroom.

  * ●●●●

He’s trying to bully the vending machine outside the motel into spitting out a few chocolate bars when he feels it.

The thing is, when they were kids, after their powers manifested, Five used to jump _everywhere_. It was like the little bastard got addicted to it, always just zapping around to the point of exhaustion. And after a while of that, it’s hard not to get used to the noise until your brain barely registers it anymore. That being said, his siblings and Diego himself got familiar with the feeling of being watched early on.

And not knowing that was this person’s first mistake.

Diego gives the vending machine one last half-hearted kick, a spot between his shoulder blades itching like someone’s drilling holes in his skin, and starts walking.

He bypasses his and Dean’s room.

Rounding the corner, he steps into the darkness, out of the pool of artificial light cast by lamps along the parking lot. Asphalt and concrete underneath his boots turn into the grass and soft soil, crunching and shifting beneath his feet with every step. Then more, as another pair of feet trails after him.

He rounds another corner, now behind the motel, and feels his fingertips buzzing with anticipation of a fight. His stalker, though, was obviously assuming that he’s just gonna roll over and die.

First, there’s a chill of a blade at the base of his throat, a hand clamping down on his shoulder surely- and then spasming as Diego rams his head back in his face, hand catching a wrist and pulling just in time to prevent the knife from slicing his throat. In lieu of that, it sinks over the skin underneath his collar bone.

The man swears, rearranging his grip on Diego, and tries to stab him again. It’s not working well for him, from his spot behind Diego, but Diego’s palms still turn slick and painful while trying to get the knife out of his face. He steps on the guy’s toes harshly, then throws his elbow back, blindly aiming for the guy’s throat. He hears choking, coughing, and wrestles the knife out of the attacker’s hand. It falls on the ground somewhere by his feet, but Diego doesn’t take a dive for it. Instead of that, he flips the guy over his back, with the goal of just getting him the hell away from himself, and bringing this scuffle to an end.

As the guy tumbles to the ground, there’s a sickening crack of bones breaking. And then nothing.

Diego sucks in a breath, realizes he stopped breathing somewhere during all of this and breathes out slowly. He crouches down and feels around the grass until his fingers wrap around the hilt of the knife. He’s pretty sure it’s a hunting knife.

He can just see an outline of a man an arm’s reach away from him and grabs his phone to see who it is. Under the faint light of the phone screen, the face is just vaguely familiar to him, like he’s seen it somewhere in passing.

When he realizes who it is, he swears.

Lying in a pool of his blood and brain matter, skull cracked upon impact with a huge stone planted in the earth, is the young officer from the station. The one who was helping his senior partner to navigate a computer.

“Fuck,” he swears once again. He just killed a cop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot moves onwards!


	6. 6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diego has about two consecutive meltdowns and Things resolve. Sort of.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

One ring and Dean answers with a grunt and, “Dude, have you walked to the vending machine on the _other _side of the town?”

_No monster is innocent_. The words are a faint whisper in his ear as his stomach turns into knots with each passing second.

Diego keeps his eyes on the silhouetted body sprawled on the ground, twists and turns the knife in his hand while the cuts on his palms and collarbone pulse in time with his heartbeat. Something picks and prods at the back of his mind. He thinks, _how fucking typical. If someone’s gonna kill an officer on accident, it’s gonna be me. Always all or nothing_.

“I’m behind the m- m-“ he stops, struck with cold embarrassment, then through gritted teeth says, “Outside.”

“Uh,” Dean responds, unsure, “okay?”

God, Diego’s gonna have to spell it out, isn’t he?

“I need- there’s- hmm,” fuck, “C-can you-“

“What? What’s wrong?”

Diego presses his lips together, the feeling of frustration painfully familiar; at himself and his traitorous mouth, and at being interrupted although he knows that wasn’t Dean’s intention.

“Shovels,” he spits out, doesn’t trust himself to say anything more for now and hopes Dean gets it.

“Okay,” Dean responds, serious and ready to just go with it. Diego can hear him standing up, shuffling something around before the call disconnects.

He runs the lines in his head, an explanation. _It was an accident. I didn’t know there was a rock. I didn’t know he was gonna crack his goddamn skull open. I didn’t mean to kill him. He came for me._

The words flow smoothly, sentence after a sentence.

He hears door flying open somewhere. Trunk too. Then slamming closed again.

Then, “Diego? Diego?!”

He takes a few steps back into the light, just for a second it takes Dean to spot him, wide-eyed and looking like a maniac with two shovels and a gas canister gripped in his hands. He starts marching towards Diego, and Diego retreats into the dark, perching above his victim like a grim reaper.

Dean’s footsteps break through the silence, and Diego catches his arm just in time to stop him from tripping over a body he hasn’t noticed yet.

He follows Diego’s eyes, squinting into darkness before he swears, saying, “Fuck, is that the guy from the station?”

Diego grunts in confirmation, running his lines. _It was an accident. I didn’t know there was a rock. I didn’t know he was gonna crack his goddamn skull open. I didn’t mean to kill him. He came for me._

But when he tries to speak, his throat closes up, chokes down his words. He shows Dean the knife in his hand.

Dean glances at it, then his eyes quickly flicker to squint at the spot above Diego’s neckline in the dark.

“That’s his?”

Diego grunts again, pocketing the knife swiftly.

There’s a second of silence and then Dean sighs.

“Well, we can’t burn him here.”

  * ●●●●

They almost got away with it. Impala’s trunk was popped open, shielded in half-darkness, and they were _this _close to getting away with it.

Or, well, Diego almost got away with it. He spilled the blood. It was his fault. Dean was just…Dean. Ride or die till the end and unlucky enough to get stuck with Diego.

The door opened, and they both froze with the limp body hanging between the two of them, legs in Dean’s hands, arms in Diego’s. It was the middle of the night, and the street light reflected in Dean’s wide eyes.

They almost got away with it. But they didn’t.

There was Mike, looking at them like _they_ were the ones who caught _him_ hauling a dead body into a car’s trunk.

And now, here they are.

Dean keeps his eyes on the road, driving and driving, and tense at the shoulders while Impala’s engine is the only thing breaking the loaded silence in the all-too-small space for this kind of thing.

Mike is alternating between burning questions with his eyes in the back of Dean’s neck and glancing uncomfortably either at Diego’s profile or straight in his eyes when they meet in the rearview mirror.

Diego wonders why hasn’t he said, or asked, or _done_ anything yet. At the parking lot, he could’ve easily called for others, have them come out to witness Diego’s doing. He could have shot him. He was within firing distance; even a mediocre shooter could’ve made that shot.

Though, he thinks, Dean wouldn’t let him. He thinks about Dean firing first, the utter catastrophe that would be, the crucifixion Dean would go through to cover for Diego. Or worse, he thinks about Dean taking the bullet- he feels sick at the thought and reaches into his jacket to play with the dead officer’s knife. He runs his lines.

_It was an accident. I didn’t know there was a rock. I didn’t know he was gonna crack his goddamn skull open. I didn’t mean to kill him. He came for me._

Suddenly, he feels like laughing because isn’t that always the case? People are always coming for him, and he always spills blood. His own, theirs; it doesn’t matter, there’s always a mess to clean after.

He swallows thickly and feels alone like he hasn’t felt in, _in years_. Despite the fact that the car is full, and there’s a body in the trunk, and he wants out, out, out-

He wants Mom. He wants her to speak to him softly, nonsense he doesn’t remember because the noise in his head is too loud, and to hold his face, and clean the blood from his numb hands, and rub some peroxide on the cuts. He wants her to tell him it’s alright because she always does and he needs something sure right now.

  * ●●●●

They carry the body in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in the forest outside the town and start digging.

Mike is trying to pry the answers out of Dean, but Dean doesn’t have them either (just his damn blind faith in Diego, Jesus fuck), and Diego is not talking.

He’s focused on his breathing- in and out, in and out, in and out- and digs while soft soil crumbles and compacts underneath his boots. His thoughts strayed to his siblings; because they ultimately always do, because everything Diego is once was a part of the other six. Sure, Diego twisted it into something else- because that’s what he seems to do with everything- but at one point, it was something free of his ever-present anger and darkness.

Luther was always a presence of something real and tangible. And he was always a force strong enough to bring down the house (literally). And still, with all the tools necessary for it, he never had malicious intent in his life. Allison could be vengeful, and mean, and she wasn’t above playing dirty and letting you know she was better- but she wasn’t cruel. And Klaus, and Ben, and Vanya? There was never anything cruel in any of them. The Horror was a separate entity altogether, has been since the start, and even the monster wasn’t so monstrous sometimes.

Five was calculated and stubborn, and sharp with his words. And still not cruel.

None of them were.

So what the fuck went wrong with Diego?

Not here, exactly, but Diego gets in, knives blazing and heart beating, and then digs his way out of a blackout with blood everywhere.

They put in the body, searching it over beforehand, then douse and salt it before Dean strikes the match.

  * ●●●●

He’s scrubbing the blood and dirt and the smell of smoke out of his skin (and freaking out, maybe, just a little) when the bathroom door opens, closes- and then the shower curtain swooshes and-

And Diego makes a noise of confusion and surprise as Dean steps inside the tub behind him.

“So,” he starts conversationally, voice barely strained, “what’s eating at you?”

He reaches over Diego, arm brushing at his shoulder, and wiggles his fingers with, “Pass the shampoo, would ya?”

Diego hands over the bottle quickly, fingers twitching clumsily, and flushes all over. He’s not- he’s not shy. Well, he has a healthy sense of shame, okay? It just that- well- he’s not-

“Nothing,” he responds to Dean’s question, carefully forming the letters, pushing them out in one piece with all power of will that he has.

“You sure? Because, uh, you were kinda weird. You now, even more tight-lipped than usually. And believe me, I didn’t think that was possible.”

Diego can hear him lathering the soap over his body, keeps his eyes firmly on the showerhead above him. It’s rusted, and honestly, looking at it makes him feel even less clean than he was before he got in to shower- but it’s safer than looking anywhere else at the moment.

He shakes his head, not sure how to even start explaining what’s bothering him; from his stutter, to the murder he just committed, to the metaphorical scrambled mess in his head. And he definitely doesn’t know how to start explaining any of it while they’re both naked in the shower.

Dean sighs, “Look, something’s obviously bothering you, so, uh, just- I don’t know. You’re worrying me, man.”

Diego swallows and his eyes sting. This is not something Dean can help him with. No matter how much he wants to.

“It’s o-ok- it’s fine,” he tells the showerhead, “I’ll deal.”

A beat of silence, then Dean’s nudging him forward with his hand on Diego’s back, so he can step under the spray of water and rinse off.

“You’re sure?”

Diego nods, hoping Dean hasn’t noticed the goosebumps on his skin, or is at least kind enough that he won’t mention them, “I’m sure.”

He hears Dean’s feet splatting the water in the bottom of the tub as he shuffles a step back, and says, “Alright then. Uh, good talk.”

The phrase, here, seems ridiculous. Diego’s mouth twitches up into a half-grin.

“Good talk? If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask, Winchester,” it was supposed to be teasing. And it was, until Dean uttered a reluctant, “Yeah?”

And Diego is tired of dancing around this. He is, really. So, he gives a minuscule nod and brings his hands up to hug his upper arms. “Yeah,” he responds back.

Maybe he expected a kiss. Maybe more. He doesn’t know, and expectations don’t lead anywhere when it comes to Dean Winchester.

But when Dean whispers, “Okay,” and leaves the bathroom with a gentle graze of fingers against Diego’s spine, it turns him inside out more than anything.

He spends the rest of his shower clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth to relax it from the stiffness, and mouths “_Imagine the word in your mind_,” to himself until the act doesn’t seem forced anymore.

When he gets out, Dean is sprawled on his bed, face-down and pretending to sleep. Okay. They’re sleeping on this. Diego can work with that.


	7. 7.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is...Idk. The plot thickens, I guess XD
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Diego doesn’t fall asleep for a long time. He’s pretty sure Dean doesn’t either, but they don’t talk, and they don’t move, and eventually, sleep does overtake them.

When he wakes up, Dean is sitting opposite to him, on the edge of his bed, already dressed and pretending that the coffee cup in his hands is crazy interesting. The coffee implies that he’s been awake long enough to go out and get them breakfast. It also implies that he hasn’t bothered waking Diego up, or trying to deal with…whatever it is between them.

“Dude, you just woke up, can’t you give your mind a rest?”

Diego frowns, slurs, “What?”

Dean nods at his sheets tangled form, “I can hear you thinking from here.”

“Somebody has to,” Diego responds lightly. He doesn’t want to get up. If he gets up, they’re either going to talk or pretend nothing’s going on, and Diego doesn’t want to know which one it will be just yet.

“Jackass,” Dean retorts, “I’m revoking your coffee rights for a week for this.”

“Oh no,” he closes his eyes to a grin threatening to break onto his face, “the cruelty.”

Dean snorts. He sips his coffee, and Diego wonders if he could go back to sleep, doze for a while longer.

But Dean clears his throat, says, “Uh, about- about yesterday. In the, um, shower.”

After that, Diego is very much awake. He forces himself to get up and mirror Dean’s pose, sans coffee cup.

When Dean realizes Diego’s expecting him to continue, he splutters, surprised.

Diego is suddenly worried about where this is going. Is Dean going to change his mind? Diego can never tell with people; Eudora changed her mind (they both knew it wasn’t forever, not by a long shot, but she did change her mind), and Dad was always a gamble. One day he was praising them, and the very next day, he was cutting into them with his words like they were scalpels. It wasn’t love, but you think you know what to expect from someone, and then they backhand you over an already bruised cheek.

(If it were that simple, though. If Reginald ever hit them, he wonders whether Luther would still be in that house, whether any of them would be the way they are and _where_ they are.)

“You kissed me first,” Dean says.

Yeah, Diego did do that.

“And then _you_ kissed _me_,” he responds, “and then nobody kissed anybody.”

Dean nods, agreeing.

It’s awkward. Diego tucks his hands beneath his thighs to prevent them from fiddling and waits.

Dean sighs deeply. He discards his coffee on the drawer between their beds, drags his hands over his face. He groans.

“Ugh, why are you making me do this?”

And-

Diego frowns.

“I’m not making you do anything,” he says, “for all I care, we can keep on doing nothing, but let me tell you that _that_ means you can’t just barge into my shower because you don’t feel like waiting for your turn.”

Dean hunches his shoulders, blanching at his tone, “Sorry, sorry, that’s not what I- fuck. So what now?”

He wants Diego to make a call and it’s- it’s bullshit. He’s been playing hot and cold all this time and now Diego is the one who’s supposed to make a decision? Fuck that.

He stares at Dean dead on, defiantly, “You tell me.”

If he wasn’t here right now, he’d find this situation hilarious. But he is here, and he’s just dying for Dean to say something, or do something.

“Fuck,” Dean says eloquently, “fuck. You’re fucking infuriating.”

“It’s a part of my charm.”

“Like hell it is,” he grumbles harshly but it’s ruined by the amused- dare Diego say fond- twitch of his lips.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs and then they don’t say anything more.

Diego can’t believe it can feel like they’ve solved everything and nothing at the same time.

Dean’s phone buzzes and Diego watches him reading the text he received as the crinkle between his brows deepens.

“Aw fuck,” he says, “meeting.”

Diego clambers out of the bed and goes to rifle through his bag for some clean clothes, resigning to the fact that they’ll have to finish this talk some other time.

He hears the bed creaking behind him as Dean stands up as well, feels his presence like an extension of himself even though he can’t see him. His fingers brush over a few stray knives in the bottom of his bag while snatching a faded black shirt- Luther’s old one, from a long time ago- and then he scratches at his shoulder over his T-shirt. His thoughts come back to last night, to the dead cop buried in an unmarked grave in the woods outside the town. He was watching Diego. And if he was watching him, that means he was suspicious. Which doesn’t mean much because Diego knows he doesn’t look all that trustworthy. But then he tried to kill Diego; which means he thought Diego was onto something. And that means-

That means that maybe their big bad is not a monster they all expect it to be.

  * ●●●●

“You killed a fucking cop?”

Diego gives everyone a moment to calm the fuck down, then says, “_Yes_. But that’s not important right now.”

“Like hell,” Bobby grumbles and it’s the second time Diego heard that today, so he wonders if Dean picked it up from him or if it’s just something people say when things go tits up and you try to pretend everything is fine.

Anyway, “The cop thing was taken care of. And even if it weren’t, it still gives us a new angle.”

“How so?” Charlie questions suspiciously.

“What if we were looking for a wrong monster?”

“A wrong monst-“

“What the hell-“

“-else?”

Mike is pinching the bridge of his nose, and Dean looks about ready to sink into the ground.

He tried to talk Diego out of spilling everything. Or even mentioning anything before they have some solid proof. But, well.

“Is it so fucking hard to believe that a human could be just as much of a monster as a monster itself?” He wonders over the commotion.

“There was a reason why that cop came after me. And I might be new to this, but I’m sure no monster dies so easily. He was human through and through. And he was paranoid of us finding something. What?”

“You think he was responsible for murders?” Jim asks him.

“Where the fuck is my brother, then?” Charlie pipes up as well.

Diego sighs, “I don’t know. Maybe he wasn’t working alone.”

John sits down opposite him, asks, “So you think it’s a conspiracy?”

He casts his eyes on Dean, who squirms unsubstantially under his father's questioning look before shrugging.

“It’s not like we’re swimming in other ideas, right?” Dean says next to Diego.

“Balls,” Bobby mutters into a thoughtful silence that falls over the room.

Diego thought that finally coming up with an idea would feel better, but he can’t understand why is it so hard for them all to accept this possibility. Monster killing someone is an expectation, a human killing someone is a scandal.

  * ●●●●

Diego’s phone goes off while they’re picking at their lunches, nobody particularly hungry with these thoughts rolling around in their heads.

“Hello?” He asks into the speaker, grateful for the excuse to step away from the stifling atmosphere.

“Agent Plant? Sheriff Danish speaking. We, ah, we’ve got another one.”

Diego’s eyes snap to the group of hunters observing him from around the table, their back’s immediately straightening at the look on his face.

“Body is already in the morgue?” He asks, holding eye contact with Dean.

“On the way right now.”

“Alright. Thank you, Sheriff, we’ll be there shortly,” he says and hangs up.


	8. 8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, this has an actual plot in it.
> 
> Enjoy and if you have theories about what's going on here, feel free to tell me in the comments! :)

While they are getting ready to leave, Mike approaches him. He comes to stand next to him, and says, “I thought it was Winchester.”

“What?” Diego asks, tapping a blade of one of his knives against his hip through the suit jacket’s pocket.

“The cop,” Mike elaborates, glancing around like he’s afraid they’re being spied on- which is ridiculous, considering everyone already knows. “I thought Winchester killed him.”

Diego frowns at the Impala’s front tire, piecing everything together. He admits he thought that Mike was going to tattle on them immediately, and then couldn’t figure out why he’s going along to help them.

“That’s why you didn’t say anything,” he mutters, and still, something doesn’t make sense. “Why?”

Mike snorts but doesn’t sound amused in the slightest.

“You don’t fuck with the Winchesters. Good for you, though,” he comments, scrutinizing Diego from head to toe, “didn’t think you had it in you to kill a cop.”

His eyes linger on Diego’s scar, like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s saying. He did; he thought Diego could kill someone, he just had no proof for that until now.

Diego gives a sharp “_Hm_,” and then John, Dean, Bobby, and Pastor Jim join them outside, dressed in their suits. Charlie drags his feet, masking anxiousness with an empty swagger. They didn’t get the name of their latest victim, but everyone has the same guess in their heads. Nobody’s daring to say it, though.

When others come closer, Diego says, “I’m going to the morgue, I want to see those markings up close.”

Dean nods, already sidling up to him in voiceless “I’m going with you.”

Charlie asks, “You think they were made with that cop’s knife?”

He shakes his head, “The blade is too wide. The markings were made with something thinner.”

“The rest of us can go to the crime scene. It’s still fresh, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  * ●●●●

The morgue is cold. All sharp angles, fluorescent lights that make it almost painful to look. The coroner, a pasty-skinned guy with receding hairline despite probably not being much older than thirty, is leading them towards the freezers. He’s talking, and Diego is glad Dean seems to be listening to what he’s saying because he himself can’t pull his attention from the four officers, officer Tenesay among them, who had escorted the body here and still haven’t left.

Everyone seems to be moments away from jumping out of their own skin. It’s setting Diego’s teeth on edge.

As soon as they enter the room, Diego feels goosebumps breaking out on his skin form the change in the temperature. The cops linger in the back, having seen it all already, while the coroner leads him and Dean to a wall lined with metal drawers.

The corpse he pulls out reeks. Diego pinches his lips together in an attempt to prevent himself from grimacing completely. The man is older than him, older than John or Bobby, with thin, white hair matted with dirt, greasy. High on his forehead, there’s an exit bullet wound.

Diego knows how to recognize an addict, just from being out on the streets so much himself.

“He was, ah, as you can see, killed with a single shot at the back of his head. Death was instantaneous.”

The man is covered with a sheet from neck down, and Diego pulls it to reveal neat Y going from his collarbones to his pubic bone. They already did the autopsy.

“You’re fast,” he comments, doesn’t quite flinch at the sound of shoes squeaking over the floor, but doesn’t like the notion that the cops inched their way closer either.

“Um,” the coroner says, tugging at the collar of his shirt in a blatantly nervous gesture.

Diego touches the victim’s wrist, turns the inside towards his face. He frowns. The markings are there, red lines in that stage of almost-stopped-bleeding, thin but choppy. They are fresh. Like ten minutes fresh.

He doesn’t have everything figured out just yet, but something must have shown on his face because when he lifts his eyes to glance at Dean, then meet the coroner’s, he’s flicking them over Diego’s shoulder. At the cops.

He thinks, _fuck_. And the room suddenly feels very small, and not nearly as cold as it was a second ago.

He and Dean turn, and he doesn’t know who throws the first punch, but there is a gun skittering over the floor and then he’s on the floor as well, a tangle of limbs grappling and fists flying. He takes a hit to the ribs, kicks one of his attackers in the face in response, lashing out. The guy’s head jerks back and smacks against the floor. Dean is shouting somewhere behind him, swearing.

His other attacker is, Diego assumes, trying to gouge his eyes out. And doing a horrible job of it. Still, Diego doesn’t really feel like showing him how to do it properly. Instead, he reaches up to dig his thumb in the soft flesh between his thumb and forefinger, pushing in towards the joint with his nail as hard as he can. It won’t do any damage, but the guy hisses in pain, flinches back in fear of getting harmed. Now, having his sense of sight back, Diego fists his uniform and pulls him down, rolls them so that he’s on top now, prepares to punch him-

And then gets tackled.

His shoulder twinges with pain, and his chest with irritation. Behind him, the sound of scuffle is growing faint, like Dean is getting further away.

He throws his elbow back blindly, catches chest, then shoulder, then nothing as the guy plasters himself to his back. He’s trying to get free, which is not a small feat when there’s another guy holding onto his legs, _clingy motherfuckers_.

The door opens and closes. He can barely hear Dean now, just the cops wrestling with him- _“Hold him, Jack, for fuck’s sake!”, “The fuck it looks like I’m doing?!”_\- and the coroner almost hyperventilating, chanting, _“Oh God, oh fuck, oh shit!”_

The cop holding his legs puts down his whole weight, and Diego wiggles, can’t do anything besides move his knees a little. It makes him mad because Luther wouldn’t have this problem. Or Allison. Or his other siblings. Vanya wouldn’t get into this kind of a shitshow mess. And Klaus- well. Okay, Klaus could very well be in this situation hundreds of miles away right now. But Diego is Two, he’s supposed to be better than two small town, rotten fucking cops.

He grits his teeth, slips out a switchblade from his pocket. It’s an equivalent of a paintball gun of knives, to Diego, but it’s gonna serve its purpose just fine.

He jams it deep in the leg of the guy behind him, all the way in and listens as the guy screams and swears into his ear. He squeezes Diego’s arm painfully, but that just urges him to take it to the next level.

He twists, feels muscle spasms of the body behind him, and blood gushing out. It’s gonna be a nasty wound, and a nasty scar, Diego thinks spitefully. Finally, the guy starts backing away.

Diego twists the blade once again for good measure, then, upper body free, focuses on his foot weight.

At the new development, the guy scrambles away- but not before Diego gets to him, vision going red. He catches him on the shoulder, good too. The knife sinks in, and Diego pulls, imagines the tendons and strands of tissue he severs. If the guy is lucky, he’ll just lose most of the motion in that arm. Bye-bye police career.

To cut off the screaming, he rams the guy’s head against the floor, knocking him out cold.

He’s breathing harsh, equal parts extortion and anger. His other attacker is making pained noises, curled on the floor and clutching his bleeding thigh.

“Don’t move!”

The coroner is shaking, barely holding the gun and it’s, ah. Embarrassing, really. Funny, maybe.

But Diego is not in the mood. He strides towards him, ignoring the whimper of fear- the idiot probably didn’t even switch off the safety- and punches the guy.

He crumples, dropping the gun to cup his hands over his bleeding nose.

Diego snatches the weapon in his hand- _the safety is on_\- and tucks it in the back of his waistband and then pauses.

He can’t hear Dean anymore.

He rushes out into the hallway, but it’s empty, just a few drops of red from a broken nose or a cut. No trace of Dean or any of his attackers.

“Fuck,” he says and it echoes.


	9. 9.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes to light. Finally.
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

“The way I see it, you have one option.”

The coroner, tied to a chair, squirms, breathing wetly as the blood still drips from his nose sluggishly. The conscious cop, cuffed to an exposed pipe near the freezers, stays stubbornly quiet as well. He’s pale, and his leg is still bleeding, but Diego slapped a few gauzes on the mangled wound and secured them with a longer one, so it’s not as bad as it could have been.

“You can start saving your lives by telling me what the fuck is going on here,” he instructs.

It’s been ten minutes and nobody’s picking up his calls. Dean, Bobby, John. Nobody. And it’s all rubbing him the wrong way.

So it looks like he’s the one who’s going to have to get to the bottom of this.

The cop snorts, and slurs, “We’re not telling you shit,” but he’s also eyeing the knife in Diego’s hand warily.

Diego pinches his lips together, looks around. The police are involved. And the bodies are not marked until they come here. But why? And why are they so eager to do the autopsy as soon as the body comes in?

It would make sense if it was the first kill. Just to make sure they cover all the angles, get all the info. But Diego is sure that at this point, there are other poor, dead bastards who warrant advantage on that table.

For the lack of anything else to do- at least for now- he moves to start digging through the cupboards.

“Wha-what are you doing?” The coroner asks, nasal and worried. So. There’s probably something hidden here.

“Well,” he opens a random cabinet holding bottles of various liquids, “I figure, while you two work up the balls to start talking, I’ma keep myself entertained.”

A peek over his shoulder confirms his suspicion that the cop would be stiff as a board against the wall. Neither of them wants him sniffing around and the notion just fuels him on.

“So what, life was a bit dull so you decided to decimate the town’s homeless population?”

The cabinets and drawers are mostly empty- in terms of finding anything out of place- and Diego is steadily getting fed up with this shit. He needs to find Dean and the others pronto, and his…hostages being all tight-lipped is not helping him get on with it.

“I’m serious when I say that talking is your only option,” he tells them, letting a drawer filled with paperwork slam closed.

“What, torturing us is not the other option?” The cop asks derisively. He’s started shivering. Oh well.

The coroner shoots him a wide-eyed look over his shoulder before looking back at Diego in fear.

Seeing how he’s the weaker piece in this game they’re apparently playing, Diego approaches him slowly, looming, but keeping eye-contact with his unfortunate accomplice.

“I was raised by a sadistic old fuck, so trust me when I tell you that if I take this knife and start cutting into either one of you, it’s not gonna be for torture.” He pissed enough to feel disassociated from everything, just white-hot anger clawing to get out. He’s never reacted well to people endangering him, and the only reasons- most of the time- for them not being dead as soon as he got his hands on them were his siblings. The amount of times Luther had to toss him over his shoulder and carry him away from the crime scene is best left unsaid. Or how many times Allison has rumored him into calming down.

But right now, he’s all alone and these clowns are still alive just because he needs them to tell him what’s going on and where they took Dean.

Though he only needs one of them to tell him that, and the coroner has caught up on it.

He whimpers, choking on a sob, and glares at the utility closet in the far corner of the room like it’s the devil himself.

Interesting, Diego thinks and stalks towards it.

The cop voices his protest immediately, swearing and shouting.

“Hey! Where the fuck are you going?!”

He wrenches the door open- and freezes as his eyes soak up the sight of shelves stacked up with white bricks. In a moment of enlightening brilliance, everything falls into place. His pulse hammers, mind spinning as it connects the dots.

He leaves the door open and marches towards the body on the table because he knows what’s going on. He has it figured out but he needs _this. This one last proof._

“They put me up to this! I didn’t want to participate- _oh, shit_\- it’s not my fault! I’m just a victim!” The coroner sobs but Diego’s not listening.

He grabs a pair of pointed clippers and starts cutting the stitches, snip by snip, while the bound pair argues behind his back.

“I’ll tell you everything! Just let me go, please! They wanted to sell the drugs, they wanted to sell them, but couldn’t move them and needed to transport them somehow-“

“Shut the fuck up, Charles! Shut the fuck up!”

The inner organs are gone- some of them- to make space for bricks of cocaine nestled in the hollow of the abdominal cavity. Three bricks for the three dots on the wrist marking.

Diego feels hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest, but swallows it down under the gravity of the situation. _Jesus fuck_.

He turns to ask, “How many?”

“Hu- what?”

“How many involved?”

Charles shakes his head, “I don’t- uh, ten, maybe? With Jack and Dan.”

So eight. Okay. Okay. Diego can work with that.

“And my partner? Where did they take him?”

“There is ah, old storage on the south end of town. They took him there.”

“Others too?”

Charles nods and Dan swears.

Diego leaves them as they are and goes back to the motel to weaponize properly.

  * ●●●●

Dean wakes up at the sharp kick at his foot, and pain throbbing in the back of his head. First, he wonders did they get those cops- but considering his head hurts like a bitch, and he’s somewhere cold and dusty, he thinks he knows the answer. He hopes that at least Diego got away.

Second, he squints at the guy sitting opposite to him in dull light, hands tied behind the pillar in the same fashion as Dean’s.

He scoots back from where he stretched to be able to reach Dean’s foot, and says, “I’m Edward. You?”

And well. Son of a bitch. He laughs hoarsely, “Dean. Your brother’s been worried about you.”

At that, the guy lights up like a Christmas tree.

“Charlie? He’s alright?”

“He was the last time I saw him,” Dean says truthfully. The ropes around his wrists are tight, but he thinks he could get out of them, given some time.

“So, uh, gonna fill me in?” He asks. Might as well stock up on info and try making sense of all of this while they’re stuck here.

Edward blows out a breath, “Shit, man. It was the cops.”

“Yeah, figured that much. You know why they’re doing this?”

“No idea. I don’t see them much. They come in every once in awhile to give me some water, but besides that nada.”

So they probably won’t kill them. Dean hopes so. Maybe they just got in the way and the cops don’t know what to do with them now.

He’s trying to wear down the rope against the pillar, and he can hear the threads frying, but it’s gonna take forever. Edward is observing him.

“What, you’re just gonna sit there?”

He gets a self- deprecating grin in response. Edward shakes his arms, and the jingle of metal clears everything up. “Tried it, they caught me. So you should probably work fast.”

  * ●●●●

He’s down to the last few threads when there’s suddenly a thud in the room next to theirs. Then one more, and another. And a second later, he hears his dad swearing.

“Dad!” He shouts, working faster to get out of the ropes.

A moment of silence, then, “Dean?!”

“Yeah! They got a jump at us in the morgue. Is Diego with you?!”

“No! They got us at the crime scene!”

Shit.

“All of you?!”

“Yeah!”

Fuck. So Diego is either somewhere else in the building, or still free and outnumbered.

“I found Edward!”

“Edward?!” Charlie’s voice shouts.

“Yeah! I’m good!” Edwards calls back.

“We’re still fucked,” Dean tells him. He can’t believe a pair of cops got a drop on him like he’s a fucking amateur. The only consolation is that his dad and others are in the same situation so it doesn’t mean he’s just fucking incompetent.

He hopes Diego won’t try doing something stupid.

  * ●●●●

Diego leaves the Impala on the side of the road and then follows the side-road to the storage on foot. It’s already getting dark, so he hopes that will give him all the necessary cover once he gets close enough.

It’s a bit chilly, he can feel the cold against his neck, but his face is warm with anger. In theory, he knows what happened. He understands it perfectly. But he still can’t wrap his head around it. The more he thinks about how these bastards were killing innocent, vulnerable people just for profit, the more he feels like screaming his lungs out at the sky. Monsters. What’s worse; killing because it’s in your nature and there’s no way around it, or killing because you decided to do so?

He catches a shape in the distance and lights, and ventures off the road, providing cover between the trees. The building is low, two floors- including the ground one- and there is a patrol cruiser parked in front of it. In the shadows, Diego recognizes John’s truck and Bobby’s Charger. Everyone is here.

Well. Time to get this show on the road.


	10. 10.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okayyyyyy. This is a long one. Things happen, Diego gets to be a bit of a badass and there is,,,a possible surprise at the end ;)
> 
> And this is also the end of this installment! 
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

When Dean finally gets out of the ropes, his wrists are red with irritation, his shoulders ache with being bent backward for this long and he can’t wait to get out of this suit and set it on fire. But for now, he scrambles to his knees and chucks the rope to the side before going to see what he can do about Edward’s own restraints.

The chain is rusty in some parts, but not damaged enough that they’d have a chance of snapping it. The lock is new, and Dean searches the room in hopes of finding bolt cutters or an ax or something because however they turn it, Edward has no chances of wriggling out of there.

“There’s nothing here,” he says after his search, noticing how Edward’s shoulders slump with defeat.

“Then you get out, find help,” he tells Dean. Dean doubt’s it’s a good idea. If they find out Dean got away, they might just flip out and kill everyone. He can’t risk that.

He thinks about Diego, mind flashing back to how he was trashing against those two cops in the morgue when Dean last saw him. It wasn’t looking very likely that he’ll win, but Dean still holds out hope that somehow he managed to overpower them and get away. If he hadn’t, he’d probably be here with Dean or in the other room with Dad and everyone else.

The other option is that he’s dead, and-

Dean refuses to acknowledge that. Diego is fine. Fine and safe. He has to be.

  * ●●●●

He takes out the cops standing at the door up close. The first one goes down with a hand over his mouth and a knife in the back of his neck, the second one jabs his gun in Diego’s side before going down with blood gurgling out of his mouth and slit throat. Diego takes the gun and tucks it in the back of his jeans; he has no intention of using it, but getting shot with it because he left it behind is just the type of thing that could happen to him.

Inside, things don’t go that smooth.

There’s a quartet of cops playing cards in the room when Diego bursts in. Two go down immediately, but their friends open fire before Diego can do anything. Bullets ricochet off the walls and boxes stacked against them. He can almost feel their trajectory, that’s how single-mindedly furious he is.

(There was an assumption that he can control anything that moves, but while throwing knives that have been in his hands feels almost effortless, controlling something he doesn’t know the feel and weight of asks for far more focus than he can muster up most of the time.)

He ducks behind the corner, in a narrow hallway between two rooms- then almost falls on his ass when gunshots start ringing from the other side as well. Plaster flies when a bullet embeds itself in the corner near his head and he ducks, swearing. He flings a knife over his shoulder, guiding it around the curve of the corner. He hears a body drop, but the shooting doesn’t cease. He throws two more, and then a metallic clang sounds off in between _phew_s and _crack_s of bullets crashing into the brick and plaster and Diego curses to himself because one of those fuckers hit the gas pipeline.

  * ●●●●

He bursts out into an empty hallway, thanking fuck for whoever didn’t bother with replacing rusted hinges and rotten doorways. Edward is still in the room, bound, and Dean holds his breath tensely, waiting to see if anyone is here and has heard him breaking down the door. A moment later, nothing happens, and he rushes to get others free as well.

The door gives just as easily, and he finds Dad and Bobby already free and untying Charlie and Mike.

“Where’s Edward?” Charlie asks him in alarm, looking at him over his shoulder because he’s turned away towards the wall.

“He’s shackled. We need bolt cutters or some shit,” he informs him.

“Where the hell is Diego?” Bobby asks.

Dean sweeps his eyes over the room, checking if there’s anything useful here. He swallows.

“I don’t know. We were at the morgue when shit hit the fan, and I didn’t see him since then,” he tells them.

“Maybe he’s-“ Mike starts, rising to his feet and rubbing the feeling into his wrists, and Dean cuts him off with a firm, “He’s not.”

A brief pause where no one’s mentioning the determination in his voice settles over them, and then Bobby says, “They didn’t find my lock-picks. Let’s go see about those shackles.”

  * ●●●●

Diego is not breathing. The smoke is already seeping into his clothes, and the dust clings to his skin, making him itch. There’s faint swearing and coughing somewhere around him, bullets still flying, but he stays on the ground, covering his ears for a second longer, brain recuperating from the small blast.

It is safe to say that this went tits up sooner than he thought it would.

The footsteps near him, and as one of the cops rounds the corner away from the room that’s already on fire, surely, Diego tosses a knife in his direction, climbing to his feet as the cop falls face-down like they’re switching places.

It should probably bother him how easy this is; flick your wrist and let it bleed. And there’s definitely something to be said about murder fueled by a hungry desire to make money, and murder fueled by simple, mad fury- but Diego is still not breathing, and he doesn’t have time to ponder on that.

The shooting has stopped. He peers around the corner, and when nobody’s there to blow his face off, he makes a dash for the second floor.

Tenesay- the cop from the morgue, waits for him on the stairs, shoots but misses him by a wide stretch, hands unsteady with adrenaline. They lock eyes for a second, then Diego’s sending a knife his way, feels it sail through the air- and collide with the wall before clattering to the floor. Tenesay took off up the stairs in the right moment to save his life.

Diego narrows his eyes at the blade, thinks, _alright_, and takes off after him.

  * ●●●●

Bobby works his magic on the locks, and Dean still roots around the rooms, stopping only once he finds their weapons and other possessions they had on them when they got caught.

When the locks pop, Charlie pulls Edward up and into a one-handed hug, and Dean occupies himself with checking if his gun is loaded. His stomach twinges with the thought that Sam and he will never be like that again, feeling guilty even though it was _Sam_ who walked out on _them_. Not the other way around.

“Let’s get out of here,” Mike suggests, and yeah, Dean agrees, but Diego might be here. He might be in one of those rooms, somewhere inside this building.

He’s about to tell them to go ahead, get out and take out every bastard they find on their way, but he has to find Diego first. Though, he doesn’t get to say anything, opens his mouth, and then something goes off in the building, a faint but clear _boom_ that has them all whipping their heads towards the door.

They rush out, but the hallway is still empty and they can’t hear anything- except, when Dean strains his ears-

“Are those gunshots?”

“Yeah.”

They don’t split up this time, but venture out like a group. The hallways wind and twist, but there are emergency evacuation posters glued to the walls, presenting them helpfully with the blueprints of the building.

They come to the part where one of the corners is demolished, the floor completely caved and creating a hole big enough to fall through. They hear footsteps, debris crunching underneath the boots, and raise their guns, ready to fire and-

Diego is walking backward, stopping just on the edge of the hole, eyes front-

“Diego?” Dean blurts, so relieved he can barely breathe for a second. He managed to escape in the morgue, Dean knows because he has changed out of his suit, switching it for dark jeans and shirt.

Diego’s eyes widen when they land on him. “Dean?” He asks back, sounding just as relieved. He’s covered in dust and Dean wonders if he was the one who blew something up just moments ago.

But then another person steps in from behind the corner, gun aimed at Diego. It’ the cop, the one who attacked Dean in the morgue.

Nobody has a chance to react before he pushes Diego, sending his balance off-kilter and him toppling back.

Dean has a horrible flash of seeing him fall and hearing the body hitting the ground- but Diego grabs the cop by the front of his uniform, pulling him along. The gun skids across the floor and the guy is down on his knees, trying to dislodge Diego’s hold on him, while Diego pretty much dangling from the edge, forearm braced against the floor and other hand fisted in the cop’s uniform shirt. He looks livid.

He’s taking a step towards them, and he’s about to tackle the cop, bash his fucking head in, then pull Diego up, but Diego lets go. Dean wonders what the fuck he’s doing, then in a blink, watches as Diego pulls himself up single-handedly, just a bit, just enough to hook his elbow around the back of the cop’s neck and pull him back in. Dean doesn’t know when he got a knife, can’t recall seeing it a second ago (but that’s Diego for you) but Diego shoves the blade against the cop’s throat with stone-faced expression and slices it in one smooth motion, uncurling his arm.

The cop chokes and Diego shoves him past himself, down the hole, then hitches one leg over the edge and pulls himself up.

The silence that follows can only be described as stunned, as Diego takes in a careful, measured breath, and releases it, sprawled on his back and still holding the bloody knife in his hand.

Dean looks at him, stretched out on the floor with a streak of red smeared on his cheek, and rubs at his chest, clearing his throat because this is so not the time for _those_ thoughts.

“We need a new way out because, uh, this side is a bit hot,” Diego says suddenly. He sits up and climbs to his feet.

“Everyone okay?” He asks, but his eyes settle on Dean.

He nods. “You?”

“I’m great,” he replies but he looks glum. Dean is curious if he managed to find out what’s going on but doesn’t ask because this is not the time for that either and he’s sure Diego will tell him anyway.

“Well, if we’re all here now, how about we get going already?” Charlie pipes up.

Honestly, Dean thinks that’s the smartest suggestion the man had so far.

  * ●●●●

He catches up to Tenesay at the top. His heart is pounding; throbbing in his temples, behind his eyes, at tips of his fingers, and the base of his throat. Diego remembers the last time he was this furious, when Klaus woke the whole house up by screaming bloody murder and hauling a bag of his earthly possessions down the hallway after Ben died. Dad put up the statue sometime during the night, and it was more like a mockery than anything else because the only darkness in Ben’s life was Dad and there surely was no peace for him in the light.

Diego can’t remember yelling at Dad ever before but even now he can feel the faint, sharp pain in his skull and burning in his lungs as he screamed at him from the doorway of his fucking precious office.

Tenesay cocks his gun at him, breathing harshly.

“You sorted out Jack and Dan, then? Is Charles even alive?” He asks, but shrugs flippantly a second later, “Eh, more for us.”

He’s talking fast, and he’s shifty, and so full of fake bravado that Diego wants to laugh at him.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Money.” Like it’s obvious.

“And what gave you the right?”

A shrug and, “They were just some low-life bums. It’s not like they were good for anything else.”

He laughs, he can’t help it, “That’s such a load of shit.” Diego hasn’t seen all the things John or Bobby or Jim had, doesn’t have the experience of years beneath his skin, but he knows enough to recognize a man who’s so pathetic that he’s pulling at the straws in hopes of winning a lottery. He’s fooling himself if he thinks that anyone is too good to die. And he’s a cocky asshole if he thinks he has any right of deciding that.

“What, you were going to pull this off, get rich off your asses and what?”

Tenesay pinches his mouth in a thin line. He thinks he’s scary, but his hands shake so obviously it’s ridiculous. Meanwhile, Diego’s got a knife hidden in his palm and is itching to use it.

  * ●●●●

Diego’s shoulders are a tightly drawn line, tense with something that’s threatening to burst out of him like he’s a time- bomb, just bidding his time before he blows up with pent up pressure.

Dean falls into step with him, taking in the smell of smoke and his harsh profile. He’s dying to know what’s going on in his head right now but Diego looks like he wouldn’t hear a word out of his mouth right now.

And then it turns out he doesn’t have to ask.

“The cops are your monster,” Diego says, loud enough that the rest of them can hear him. He even sounds tense, voice stretched like a string on the point of snapping.

“Monster?” Bobby asks and Dean knows he means, “_As in singular? Just one monster?_”

Diego hums sharply, “Yeah. So much about rituals. They were going to smuggle the drugs out of the town in corpses.”

The stunned silence is broken by exclaimed “What?” and Dean realizes it’s his own voice. He was there when the cops attacked them but- what the hell. He doesn’t know what he had in mind but this wasn’t it.

Diego hums again, jaw set and mouth pressed together, nostrils flaring as he breathes, controlled and measured. He’s furious, Dean realizes.

Dean, himself, is not feeling much of anything at the moment. He’s still mulling it over in his head. It’s the last puzzle piece, and it fits, but it’s like there’s something else in its designed place and Dean can’t push it down to complete the picture.

“They got greedy, and that drug bust from a while back was their golden opportunity.”

“What about the markings?” Jim asks.

“A circle for every brick,” Diego responds, clipped.

Dean feels vaguely sick but pushes it down. He can deal with this later. But not now. He just can’t think about it now. He’s entirely too sober and entirely too not-alone to deal with this now.

“How many of them were involved?” Edward speaks for the first time since Diego found them.

Diego shrugs, “Ten, the morgue guy said.”

“Jesus.”

Dean doesn’t know who says it, but his ears are ringing.

  * ●●●●

The others are cleaning up the bloody- _literally_\- mess Diego left in his wake, and Dean breaks off from the group to join Diego outside. He’s pacing the gravelly road with restless, painful sort of energy. Dean panics for a second, scared that he got hurt and hasn’t told anybody, but he’s not favoring any part of his body, and his skin is flushed with anger, not a trace of blood loss anywhere.

“How are you doing?” Dean asks because he can’t just keep on staring at him.

The question stops Diego in his pacing, and he spins on his heels to face Dean. His eyes are a little wild before they settle into something more subdued. Dean doesn’t get a good look because he pushes the heels of his palms against them, fingers curling into fists on his forehead.

“What do you think?” He asks back and it doesn’t actually answer _jack shit_ but Dean wasn’t really expecting him to open up and he’s too much of a chicken to prod.

He swallows, eyeing the building behind his back, the woods around them before the only thing left to look at is Diego. Dean drags his eyes up the lean lines of his body, and he’s shaking, just a little, probably hasn’t even noticed it himself. The scar above his ear looks pale in the moonlight and Dean wonders, for who knows what time, where he got it.

“Looks like you really can’t trust anyone these days, huh?” He finds himself asking, trying to lighten the mood and fucking up incredibly because Diego just tenses even more. He’s going to pull something if he keeps it up.

He steps closer, only half a mind worrying about getting socked if he comes too close, and adds, gruffly because his throat is working against him, “Except you. I can always trust you,” and _shit_, it doesn’t even matter how scarily honest that is because Diego loses some of that wounded posture, loosening up like someone cut his cords.

He stares at Dean for a long moment, Bambi eyes and everything- _Christ, this guy destroyed at least half a dozen police force just half an hour ago_\- and then he’s all up in Dean’s space, hands fisting his collar before mashing their mouths in a kiss that’s so messy it’s barely a kiss at all.

It dawns to Dean that Diego lost his patience with waiting for Dean to make his move, and feels peeved just so because he was getting to it, alright? He was just…waiting for the right moment.

But as it is, all he can do is guide them back to anything that resembles more to an actual kiss, hands on Diego’s neck and thumbs tucked underneath his jaw. Diego still feels unsettled, and Dean has no idea what it’s about, but for now everything except how he feels this close to Dean falls into the background. Humans and monsters be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! This is the end- for now! I'll try to start a new installment as soon as possible! <3


End file.
